The Tale of The Phantom of The Forest
by Gardamorg
Summary: Gory recounting of a triumphant battle between a very skilled, very physically powerful ancient warrior and a rival tribe of warriors and hunters.


"In a world of blades, blood and bone, battles are prevalent and constant. This age marks the beginning of the rise of settlements across all the Earth. This earth, made up of ten seas and eight major continents, has evolved every ecosystem there could be within a habitable world. The biosphere has been rich with all forms of organisms whether of green or of flesh. Mankind has lived amongst animals for many centuries, slowly evolving and taking the craftsmanship of weapons to their liking, as well as farming and agriculture. Tribes of humans have settled merely tens of miles apart from one another throughout the entire biosphere, unwilling to share in wealth or join in culture and heritage. Thus, massive combat ensues daily; the martial art of killing other humans has been developed over the centuries. Amongst millions of great warriors throughout the biosphere an adept at combat-innately lethal to others-an alpha male, the apex of savage combat has been born. This one has dark skin, a bald head and white irises. He is Gromadrag; he is at once a Silverback Gorilla in strength and a Cheetah in speed. Through the edge of his blade lives are ended."

-Tales of Karnae.

Tale I: The Phantom of the Forest

It was broad daylight but enemies could hide amongst the vast expanse of various kinds of trees and shrubbery in the mighty tropical forest of Karnae, housing hundreds of tribes of barbaric natives. Gromadrag was of the tribe of the Baragorge peoples, although he was far off his own turf in Collagiat, a rival tribe to his own. Looking to fell another tribe's ever-watchful warrior contingent, Gromadrag spied upon the band of warriors atop a branch far away. The warriors were strong and armed well, they had many scars showing their experience and, to Gromadrag, their failures, as well.

They were six and Gromadrag was only one, but he was worth twenty warriors of a far superior caliber to these. Armed with only the razor sharp granite blade of his dagger, Gromadrag leaped from atop the branch in which he stood. Like a phantom he moved across the forest passing trees-which seemed to him, at his speed, merely shapeless blurs-until he sneaked up behind the rear of the group of tribal warriors. Using his dagger and speed, he silently, swiftly and without warning cut through the back of the neck of one of the warriors causing his head to sink into the front of his neck as the man crumpled to the ground in a spasmodic fit, unable to lift his head to ease the pressure of his chin against his crushed throat. Before the others could react, Gromadrag made quick work of another two warriors, severing many tendons in their arms, legs and their necks with his dagger in a flurry of well-coordinated slashes.

The fourth warrior lifted his hatchet and swiftly ran backwards. Simultaneously the fifth and sixth tribal warriors drew bows and arrows, running away backward as well, as but more hastily than the one with the hatchet, trying to create distance from Gromadrag. With his great speed Gromadrag became-to the trained, hunting eyes of the archers-nothing but a streak of wind as he side-stepped the fifth man's arrow piercing the air and then later sinking it's tip into the trunk of a tree. Gromadrag spun 360 degrees, while simultaneously swinging his dagger completely across his body and changing sword hands once he completed the spin, before taking another 360 degree spin slashing one of the marksman's throats with the blade that now rested in his right hand. The man with the hatchet charged, raising his weapon over his head with his right hand, and then swinging it diagonally upon Gromadrag-who performed a leftward side-step that allowed him to evade the copper blade of the hatchet. As the warrior fell forward Gromadrag cut his throat. At this point the last man, a marksman, had already set and aimed his bow at Gromadrag, and released the arrow upon Gromadrag. However, Gromadrag evaded the arrow by twirling as the spiraling water of a vortex-holding his dagger reverse grip-the first downward swoop of his blade wasn't close enough to land on the archer, he spun again and this time the tip of his blade found it's way into the marksman's skull, thus ending the brief confrontation as abruptly as it had begun. This fight had lasted mere seconds, but Gromadrag was satisfied, he set out to return to his tribe stained with the blood of the Collagiat warriors.

At that point Gromadrag heard a battle cry, as he glanced back at the Collagiat encampment he witnessed well over a hundred Collagiat savages charging and up from behind him. In the blink of an eye he realized that they had encircled him, howling in the jungle. Gromadrag lifted his blade in a reverse grip and crouched into the refined stance of a flawless warrior. The crowd opened up and let a large, lean Warrior elite waltz into the circle in which Gromadrag was trapped. The crowd began chanting, "Mihein!" The elite Mihein had a plethora of battle scars and a long, well-crafted bronze sword in his right hand. In addition the warrior was wearing light slabs of armor around his right shoulder and had the Collagiat Elite Symbol branded into his forehead. Mihein embraced Gromadrag in combat by diagonally swinging his long, light sword at terrific speed. Upon evading Mihein's blade Gromadrag quickly pivoted and slit Mihein's thick throat, as if the "Elite" had been standing there like a statue for several minutes. The Calgiatyons' chants were slowly died down as they watched their champion collapse to the ground.

Suddenly ten more Elites like Miheim came charging out of the crowd, followed by an eleventh elite, but this one was different. Gromadrag noticed that the eleventh elite stood back while the others charged, this lean figure lacked scars, carried a spear as opposed to a sword or a bow and arrow, and was braded with another symbol, indicating that he was the Alpha-elite, the Tribal Leader. The elite warriors, all armed with light bronze swords dove into the fray, Gromadrag quickly evaded multiple well-aimed strikes while proceeding to lacerate a few of their faces. Three of these elites were archers, holding better bows than the hunters he had slain earlier. Gromadrag's blood started to pump through his veins and he broke a sweat, this only strengthened his lust for blood. Gromadrag went into a frenzy of finesse counter slashing, quickly mowing down the elites and dodging the arrows of the archers. Gromadrag noticed-out of the corner of his eye-that the Leader's razor sharp spear head was being thrust toward his own face, Gromadrag lashed his head back while arching his lower back allowing him to bend over backward and avoid impalement. An arrow singed through the air and Gromadrag performed a backward summer-salt to avoid it.

Suddenly the gathered audience of Callagiat savages began to cheer for him as he began felling the archers. He quickly killed the archers by slashing through the exposed portions of their bodies with his dagger. Gromadrag then proceeded to side-flip above another blade, and after landing gracefully on his feet, he continued the slaughter by causing nearest elite to swing and miss-accidently cutting down another elite in the process. Gromadrag slid his blade across the clumsy swordsman's throat, leaving only the Tribal Leader left to fight. There were cheers for both Kalagyote (the leader) and for Gromadrag emanating from the crowd.

Gromadrag charged ahead eager to finish his opponent, having worked up a good sweat and now using his loosened muscles to their full ability. Kalagyote evaded Gromadrag's lighting-fast flurries and managed to perform a parry that destroyed Gromadrag inferior granite dagger. The weaponless warrior quickly wrapped his arms around the body and arms of Kalagyote, successfully obtaining a bear hug, with his superior size Gromadrag tightened his bear hug in such a way that his arms began to suffocate Kalagyote as he made a loud grunt and dropped his blade. No longer able to stand on his own, Kalagyote was being held upright entirely by Gromadrag's iron bear hub. Gromadrag's face squinted and he roared, and as Kalagyote yelped Gromadrag could feel the snapping of the Leader's bones. The crowd began to chant "Forest Phantom" They repeated the name in a chant that grew louder and louder until Gromadrag had finally squeezed the life out of Kalagyote.

After having witnessed the Baragorgyon's abilities, the entire tribe bowed down to him in submission. Gromadrag looked to the sky and raised his arms to bask in his glory. With hundreds of savages on their knees around his perimeter, corpses of well armed warriors and their great weapons strewn across the forest floor, small chunks of his many victims' bones stuck to his skin and loin cloth, as well as dried blood making all of his skin appear crimson; Gromadrag was now truly a sight to behold.


End file.
